


Won’t Go Home, Can’t Stay Here

by Rabid_X



Series: 12 Gays of Christmas [1]
Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 12 Gays of Christmas, Christmas, M/M, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:04:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabid_X/pseuds/Rabid_X
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part one of 12 Gays of Christmas: Christmas Carol Edition. Q gets a Christmas surprire from Bond. There is copious singing.</p><p>This is one pair of a multiple fandom work. The stories are not connected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won’t Go Home, Can’t Stay Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrometheusHarpe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrometheusHarpe/gifts).



> My writing partner, PrometheusHarpe, and I started doing this many Christmases ago. The premise is six lovely gay couples at the Christmas season.This year I write them for her. This is un-beta'd so let me know the mistakes and my first 00Q fic. Enjoy!  
> (eventually to be cross-posted on Live Journal)

Christmas Eve was fast approaching and Q was behind his desk as usual. His fingers flew over the light keyboard projected onto the desk in front of him, his shoulders were pulled up around his ears and his head was hunched low. He’d been that way for hours. The rest of Q Branch hummed along outside his door like the busy hive it was. All in a day’s (and night’s) work.

Except for the random outbreak of Christmas Carols.

Q wasn’t sure who started it, his mind on North Korea’s military science division, but at noon someone started singing “Jingle Bells” and four other voices joined in. Q had stuck his head out the door at the ha ha ha’s and found himself unable to stop smiling. At two o’clock, there was an outbreak of “Frosty the Snowman” and a round of applause. When he came back from ballistic testing at four to have some tea, he found himself in the middle of “Deck the Halls”. 

It was apparently an infection. 

He didn’t mind though, even as he was cracking security codes for 005’s latest mission in Algeria. He wasn’t about to break the festive air. God knew MI6 could stand some cheer even as they broke in their new offices. At seven p.m. he saw most of Q Branch out, singing along to “Here We Come A-Wassailing” as he herded them onto the elevators. Then he returned to his office, the department blissfully silent for once, and went back to work. It was a rare enough occurrence, espionage was not on a regular workman’s schedule after all, and he’d wanted to take full advantage of the short break before the night shift rolled in. 

At eleven p.m. Moneypenny rang him and told him to go home, for god’s sake. “It’s almost Christmas Eve!”

“And I will celebrate in my own time. Good night, Moneypenny.”

She huffed at him and rang off, the faint sounds of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” piping through before the receiver hit the cradle. 

The night shift had come in a couple of hours before and seemed unaffected by the caroling virus that had struck the day shift. Q sighed a few times and rolled his neck and shoulders. The work for 005 was done and he could go home but his flat was silent as any ancient Christmas night and the blurry twinkles of a desk top Christmas tree on one of the desks beyond his frosted windows was nice. He pulled up the plans for a new button camera and started fiddling.

Small chimes struck midnight from his computer speakers and he sighed. Christmas Eve officially. “Merry Christmas,” he mumbled to himself.

Suddenly a deep voice rang through Q Branch. “Good King Wenceslas looked out on the Feast of Stephen. When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even.”

He raised his head, perplexed briefly, before smiling. One of the nightshift had a lovely voice for certain. He saved his work and started to stand to go out but stopped. None of the other men and women out in the workspace were joining in.

“Brightly shone the moon that night, tho' the frost was cruel, when a poor man came in sight, gath’ring winter fuel.”

Q stood then and peered out his door. 007, James, bloody Bond, was strolling through the department, nodding and smiling pleasantly to the shocked branch workers. He was still in his overcoat and scarf, gloves held in one hand as he made his was towards Q’s office. Q retreated, cheeks heating quickly. What was the man up to now?

"Hither, page, and stand by me, if thou know'st it, telling, yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling?"

Oh god, the man wasn’t stopping, the rich tones coming closer and closer to Q’s door. Q bent back to his work, eyes on the screen but seeing not one line or shape there. 

"Sire, he lives a good league hence, underneath the mountain; Right against the forest fence, by Saint Agnes' fountain."

One of the ladies giggled and Q rolled his eyes. Yes, yes Bond was a charming bastard alright. Wasn’t he supposed to be charming a French delegate’s wife for information on some missing weapons instead of flirting his way through Q Branch? 

"Bring me flesh, and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither. Thou and I shall see him dine, when we bear them thither,” Bond sang from in Q’s doorway. Shit.

He took a few deep breaths before looking over and Bond smiled at him. “You’re here too late, Q. Come have dinner with me.”

“It’s midnight on Christmas Eve, 007. No one will be serving,” Q said aiming for dry but the words clicked slighting in his throat.

“I dare say there is a special, quiet place where we can dine. Very private and highly exclusive,” Bond said as he stepped in and unhooked Q’s coat from the spot by the door. “By the time we get there the roast will be done.”

“You cooked?” Q couldn’t keep the incredulous note out of his voice.

James grinned. “Try not to be so surprised would you, Q? Now come on, I’d hate it to be dry.” He held Q’s coat out for him.

Q shut his computer off and slowly got up. He let James – hell, he was thinking of him as James now – help him into his coat and started to step out. James caught him by the arm and pointed up.

“Mistletoe,” he said simply.

“When – how in the hell did that…” was all Q got out before James kissed him. The hand on his arm squeezed gently, kneading like a cat as James nudged Q’s lips open with his. He tasted apples and cinnamon on James’ tongue as it stroked over his. 

“There’s mulled cider as well,” James said.

“I could tell,” Q said, trying to regain some semblance of composure. 

He let James escort him to the elevator, one hand pressed firmly at the small of his back. A few people called out “Marry Christmas” and he nodded in return. As soon as the doors were shut, James pinned him to the back wall and kissed him again. This time Q wrapped his arms around James’ shoulders and did his best to not rut against James’ body. 

“Wenceslas is my favorite carol,” he breathed when he could catch air again. 

“Fancy that,” James said, brushing the hair back off Q’s forehead. “Mine too. Happy Christmas, Q.”

Q let his forehead fall against James’. “Merry Christmas, James.”


End file.
